


cause nobody saves me baby the way you do

by Wankerville



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: !spoiler alert!, Age Play, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Daddy Kink, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Prostitute!Harry, Prostitution, anyway, business man!louis, but not as shitty, daddy!louis, guess i edited this so its not as shitty shit shit as before, heHagggnjhahaha, like it shitty, no you dont - Freeform, so y'know, whispers:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2288582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wankerville/pseuds/Wankerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please, Harry. Please accept it. You need it and I- I have plenty of money to spare. I- I’m just one person to take care of, so its okay. I-”<br/>“You called me as a <i>prostitute</i> though. I didn’t- I never got you off. I can’t just accept money like this, its-”<br/>“Harry,” Louis sighs, “this was better than a fuck, okay? I liked this. Now please, just... take the money.”</p><p>or, an au inspired by 1D's new song 'fireproof.' where harry's a prostitute and louis is v lonely. that is until harry becomes his babydoll, and louis his daddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cause nobody saves me baby the way you do

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in two days and a lot of it was written on the notes of my phone. pls take pity on me. this might (does) suck. idefk what this is tbh. i just. idek. idfk its whatever. just read it. pls. just fuking do it. god dgkcing damn itt.
> 
> i dedicate this to [caz](http://pinupprincesshaz.com/) my babydoll. she's the light of my life and the fire of my loins. my one, my only. she inspires so many fics and also keeps me sane. i love you so much cassey. xx
> 
> if u want to, idk, talk or something you can find me at my tumblr which is [here](http://wankerville.tumblr.com/)
> 
> P.S. the next part of the sequel to the strawberry milk fic will be out like v soon.

**i.**

_i think im gonna lose my mind_

 

The rain dribbles down Harry's sopping curls, plopping down into the darkened hollows of his eyes. They fuse with his salty tears, streaming down his face and neck where they pool in the dip of his collarbones. He sucks in his bottom lip and runs a hand through his drenched hair. Water gathers, and then drips like the smallest of waterfalls from the tips of his locks.

His boots are soaked, the small holes in the bottoms of them allowing for the puddles of water to seep in and flood his socks. The drops of water keep pounding against the pavement, more rain drops falling with every passing minute. It trills from his jacket- his _new_ jacket- and down his ripped jeans. He can feel sobs racking in his chest because this jacket was _twenty_ pounds. Twenty pounds he didn’t have to just buy himself something like this, but - it was so pretty; a nice brown, thick with little bits of fur warmth in the lining, and he got it. He got it because he knew it was getting colder, and it was so pretty, and he hadn’t bought something solely for himself in so long. He just really wanted it.

He stuffs his hands into the warm pockets of it, eyes trained on his tattered boots as he weaves his way to the bus stop by memory. Tears are spilling from his eyes more frequently now, pooling and dripping and just adding to all the puddles on the ground. He just hopes the jacket isn’t ruined, is all. It’s so pretty, so nice. He doesn’t deserve nice things like this, he knows, and maybe this is just the world's way of reminding him of that.

 

_something deep inside me i can't give up_

 

His heart beat quickens and he digs his nails into his palms from where they are tucked into the jacket. He tears his teeth into the inside of his cheek and he tries to breath solely through his nose to keep from sobbing disgustingly. He’s so _stupid_ , is the thing. He is stupid, and worthless, and he can’t do anything right. He knows. He has known since the day he was born. Since when he was six years old and he wanted the pretty dress rather than the power ranger outfit, and since when he was eleven and his nails were painted pink instead of covered in bits of mud.

He’s worthless, and he has known since his fifteenth birthday - when he came out to his parents.

His dad blurred his world in hopes to see him straight. His mum couldn’t have an opinion, his _dad_ had the opinion in the house. His dad was everything in their house. Gemma was the only one who told him it was okay, _it's okay, you can be what you want, babe_. But then she left him for uni and he had no one. He was and is worthless with no one to tell him it's okay.

His dad threw his pretty polishes to the floor- he remembers- some of them breaking and splattering against the hardwood flooring. He called him a _faggot_ and ripped his prettiest clothes. Harry remembers him asking why he couldn't be normal, why he couldn't be a _normal_ boy.

Harry doesn't know why he can't be a normal boy. He doesn't. He just really loves laces and pink and feeling like he is on top of the world. He loves to be treated gently, likes to be treated little. He didn't ask to be the way he is, he just is that way. He wishes he could be a normal boy, he does. But he is worthless and the world never fails to remind him of that.

He can't even remember to bring a sodding _umbrella_.

He waits with his head pointed to the ground at the bus stop, toes turned inward, ignoring the sloshing feeling of his soaked socks. He wants to _cry_ , but he already is, he already is but it isn’t good enough. He wants to break completely, small little fragments, washing down the sewer drain to where he belongs. He’s worthless.

He closes his eyes and breathes in heavily. He feels warmth. He feels warmth, and no more rain drops, and- _oh_. He smells it. The sweet and musky smell of buttermint. Harry opens his eyes. There are a pair of shoes standing beside his own. They’re mens shoes, _brogues_ , crisp leather and so, _so_ expensive looking. Harry looks up to see a man- a smaller man- but a man nonetheless.

The thing is, though, is the man is a bit breathtaking. He has brisk, beryl eyes that are looking straight into his. They are rounded into curves- _smiling_ \- matching the thin, pink lips that are making them crinkle and smile that way. His eyebrows are pretty and arched, cheekbones cut to rival diamonds and naturally contoured with a sweet umber colour. His hair, quiffed and wispy, a lovely brown that goes perfectly with his lovely skin and lovely eyes. The man is breathtaking, and Harry is definitely breathless.

The man tilts his head, blinks his pretty eyes, and lets out the loveliest of chuckles, “Look a bit in need of an umbrella, yeah?”

Harry’s, _oh_. That's why the rain isn’t touching him. The man is holding his umbrella over the both of him. His small hand curled around the handle. His fingers- _oh_. Harry can’t stop looking at how lovely this man is. Small but so _man_.

The man chuckles again, looking away only to look back at Harry with an even bigger smile, his eyes like lines. He looks _happy_.

“I- _thank_ you,” Harry stutters, finally. His eyes are wide, big and blinking, and he watches the way the man's face softens, his tongue licking over his little pink lips.

“It's nothing, love,” he says, his voice is so crisp and sweet, like honey dripping down sandpaper, like vanilla on a grater, “can’t have you getting a cold, can we?”

Harry blinks again. His stomach leaps and twists, his heart filling his throat. He just- the man is taking care of him is all, that's it. Just a stranger taking care of another stranger. But that stranger is him, Harry Styles, who more often than not likes to wear panties and feel little and loved.

 _The man doesn’t know you like that stuff_ , Harry thinks to himself bitterly, _he wouldn’t do this if he knew_. If he knew - the rest - any of it.

Harry sucks his bottom lip in and smiles wearily. “Thank you,” he says again. His cheeks feel warm. God, he is so stupid, so stupid and embarrassing.

The man laughs again, louder, making Harry's heartbeat speed up. He looks away, and down to hide. He is so embarrassing.

He feels something pressing into where the inside of his elbow would be, and he looks to see.

_Oh._

The man's thumb is there, holding his arm, pressing his thumb into the jacket lightly. Harry heats up, looking up to see the man smiling gently. “It really is nothing, love. Don't worry.”

Harry is so, _so_ breathless. Breathless and warm as the man lets go of his arm, not without sliding it a bit down his arm, before letting it hang at his side again.

Harry finds himself smiling, his cheeks denting as he watches the man copy his smile. Harry feels so good, so warm and good and taken care of, he does. This man is so pretty, so pretty and soft, and Harry wants him. He wants warm blankets and fireplaces with him, wants to be held by him, held and coddled and cradled. Oh, how nice that would be, how _lovely_.

The distinct sound of brakes screeching and rain against metal pulls their eyes away from one another, and Harry can finally breath again. The bus opens its doors, and the people ahead of him gather on. Harry wonders if he is suppose to walk now. He doesn't want to leave the pretty and warm man. He really doesn't.

He steps forward.

The man does too, though, holding the umbrella over the both of them until they are under the small panel of the bus, and Harry steps on. He walks, self-consciously, stopping in the middle of the bus to slip into a seat. The man has his umbrella closed now, probably having shook it out outside, and his clean quiff is now a bit damp along with his shoulders.

 

_i think i’m gonna lose my mind_

 

Harry hopes the man sits next to him. He does. It’s so far-fetched, so stupid, but he wants it. The man is so pretty and he thinks his thoughts seem logical. That is, until the man looks at him hesitantly, smiling lightly. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. The man keeps walking.

 

_(not) rolling_

 

The bus is put back into gear, and with a sunken heart in Harry’s stomach, it continues.

 

_i roll till i’m out of luck_

 

Harry wrings his fingers nervously, head down. He wants to cry again. He knows it’s stupid, he does. But he can’t help the bit of hope that plants itself in his heart. The bit of hope that makes him think that maybe he isn’t as worthless as he often feels. That maybe he is lovable, and wanted, and that maybe someone looks at him and just wants to take care of him. He has never been taken care of, never been showed the affection he wants so bad. So, so bad. The man made him feel so warm.

A few stops in, they pull up to an expensive looking building. Stacks upon stacks of flats for those who can afford them. Harry can’t quite see the top of the building, but he knows it’s tall, and he knows it’s where people who aren’t worthless live.

He watches the man get off the bus.

_yeah i’m rolling, i roll till i’m out of luck_

 

 

**ii.**

_i’m feeling something deep inside_

 

The fabric slips up his smooth thighs like mixing tea and cream. They’re freshly shaved- his legs- and the lotion he rubbed in is a sweet vanilla that makes his skin feel like flower petals and smell sweet like love, _if only_. He takes careful time in clipping his stockings to the garter belt straps, making sure not to tear the fragile fabric. He slips the other on with just as much delicacy, and he carefully straightens out. He picks the padded bra up off of his mattress, and slips it over his shoulders. He clips it with mapped ease and rolls his shoulders to get comfortable in the padding.

He inhales. He exhales. And then steps in front of the full-length mirror.

 

_hotter than a jetstream burning up_

 

His stockings are black fishnets, small diamond shapes, ending at a band that are clipped, long strips of black lace pulling over to the black lace garment that slips around his thin hips. His panties are satin, deep red that shows his bulge and then forms into a string that sits between his bum cheeks. The bra is a mixture of the two colours. A base colour of the deep red satin, with black lace decour over it, and if someone ever took the time to look close enough, they’d see rose patterns. The straps of the bra aren't even sturdy, just thin lace fabrics, designed solely for the purpose of sex appeal. It contrasts his pale skin dramatically, so dark compared to how milky his skin is.

He looks hot, he _knows_. He knows that for older men who get off on boys dressed in women's clothing he looks fucking fantastic. The stereotypical prostitute look has never been hard to look, anyway. He looks fuckable, and that's all that really matters.

He doesn’t like it.

If Harry had it his way, he would put on soft, cotton panties. White, maybe pink, with little flower decours over the soft fabric. He wants a tiny pink bow at the top of the band, right in the middle, delicate and lovely. He wants it to cover his little bum, and his little dick, and he wants a big, baggy sweater to cover his little body. He wants to feel little, and cute, and _precious_.

He doesn’t like to look sexy in this kind of stuff, and he certainly doesn't like having to use it to sell his body. He never wanted to. Sell his body, that is. But he needs the money, he needs it so bad. He has rent, and bills, and food, and his doctor appointments, and needs. He needs the money so bad. He’s tried other jobs, tried to retire selling his body, but he still finds himself in need of money. He can never find a job that pays enough, and even when he does, there’s someone better, always someone better.

He sighs, and slips up his black boots.

 

_i got a feeling deep inside_

 

_“You're such a little slut.”_

Harry whimpers, a calloused hand meeting his perky little arse. He can feel the sting of the hit before it even makes contact with him. He whines, moves his bum back more, shakes it a bit, trying to show the man he wants it, he wants it _so_ bad.

He doesn’t, he really doesn’t. But he needs the money, and the better he is the more they will give.

The man groans behind him, laying another smack to his precious arse. “ _So desperate for it._ ”

 

_its takin’ its takin’, all i got_

Rough hands pull him apart, brush over his hole. There is a blindfold over his eyes, his hands tied behind his back and face in the pillows. He does what they say, lets them have their with him as long as he gets paid. He knows he’s worthless, he needs the money though, needs it so bad. He has to put some in his bank account before there's an overdraft. _God_ , he’s starving. He doesn't know when his last real meal was.

The man grabs his hair, pulls him back roughly. Harry tries not to jerk away. It’s too tight though, the man’s grip, it _hurts_. He loves his curls so much, and this man is grabbing and pulling and it just hurts. He lets out a moan to mask his whimper, and then fingers are prodding into his mouth, rough and big and gross.

_“Suck, slut.”_

He does.

 

_yeah its taking, its takin’ all i got_

 

Harry ignores the sting of the man pushing inside, ignores the noises of the man, his rough fingertips, and he pretends it's good for him. He thinks of the pretty blue-eyed man at the bus stop just days ago. Thinks of his lips, and his smile, and his lovely voice. Imagines his soft hands instead.

“ _More,_ ” he gasps out, pushing his arse back to meet the man's thrusts.

“ _Like that baby? Huh?_ ”  the man grunts, nails digging into Harry's soft skin, “ _I know you do._ ”

Harry nods into the pillows, mouth open and panting. He’s hard, he knows he is, and the man keeps hitting him right there, that spot, god, he feels it all over, feels himself buzzing.

“ _Love it, huh baby? Love taking a big cock from behind, don't you?_ ”

A hand hits his arse again, and Harry cries out, trying to shove his face into the pillow. He nods again, whimpering, “ _Love it so much._ ”

“ _I know you do, slut,_ ”  the man grits, fucking faster, harder.

Harry hates this part the most. The part where his hands need so badly to grip something, his toes curling and thighs trembling. He can feel it in his tummy, the heat, the swirling.

“ _Please,_ ” he begs, because he doesn't know if he is allowed, “ _please- let me-_ ”

The man laughs, low and ragged, “ _You wanna come, baby? Wanna come for me?_ ”

Harry closes his eyes. He wants to puke, wants to curl up and cry. He hates this. “ _Yes_ ,” he cries. He doesn’t want to, but he _does_.

The man grunts behind him, small, ‘uh, uh, uh’s’ falling from his lips before he slaps Harry’s little arse again. “ _Yeah, come for me little slut, come for your daddy_.”

He does. _God_ , he does. The man grunts again behind him, pulls out and shoves Harry’s hips to the side. Harry sobs as he rolls over, coming on his stomach and the duvet of the hotel rooms bed. The man pulls the condom off of his cock and pumps himself, one, two, three times before he comes all over the shaking, sobbing boy.

The man doesn’t untie his hands yet, doesn’t clean off his fucking come, doesn’t take off the damn blind fold. Harry hears a lighter click, and then smells the smoke.

“Open up,” the man says, blowing smoke not at his face, but near enough that Harry’s nose has the urge to scrunch up. Harry does as told, he always does. He feels paper being tucked into his mouth and he quickly withdraws his tongue. He clamps down with only his teeth, feeling even sicker. He already decides that he hates this man, hates everything about him. Hates his rough hands, and disgusting mouth, his fucking indecency to just hand him the dirty money, hates the fact that he called himself Harry’s _daddy_. He’d never, not _ever_ , be his daddy. Harry would never act down with someone as sick as him.

As soon as the man unties his wrists, he claws at the blindfold on his face, tearing it off and spitting the money into his hand. The man simply laughs at him, watching him scramble for his clothes.

Harry looks at his stockings, and sees the small tear in the fabric. He pulls his lip between his teeth. He buys these pretty things to please these men, he buys them, and he doesn't have money to buy new pairs. He has his bills and rent and needs and so little money.

So very little money.

 

**iii.**

_its been so long_

 

Louis’ fingers shake as he hurriedly tears his tie off, fingers nimble as they rip through the knot and he throws it to his bed. His big empty bed. He runs his fingers through his carefully styled quiff, loosening it between his fingers so it falls messily all over. The walls of his bedroom feel like they’re getting bigger, the room growing larger. It feels so much colder, darker already. He takes a breath, and he swears it echoes. He hates this part. The emptiness. The loneliness.

His fingers tremble, still shaking. They don’t know what to do, where to go. There is no need for them, no reason to have them. He doesn’t belong anywhere. Nowhere. He goes to work, answers his calls and fills his papers, goes to all of his meetings and makes the final decisions. But when he gets home, back to his luxurious flat, nothing. No one.

He wants someone.

It’s ridiculous. He is a 27 year old man and he still hasn’t found someone. He has put all of his time into becoming successful, into having power and money, but he’s _alone_. He wants to come home, smell something cooking, have someone to call an ‘ _I’m home_ ’ too. He wants to kiss someone goodbye in the morning, wants to kiss someone when he gets back from work, wants someone to lay next to at night when it's really bad, someone to wrap his arms around. He wants to feel needed. Wants someone to share his life with, and to need him, and to love him.

He doesn’t have that though.

Right now, he is shaking, trembling. His breathing getting harder, walls farther away, vision blurred. He just can’t be alone. He can’t. He starts thinking about the future; his future of money and business and loneliness. He has tried meeting people in coffee shops, clubs, online even. It never works out, they don’t fill that void. He just needs someone to need him.

All he wants right now is to stop the loneliness.

He pulls a card from his pocket. He’s use to strip clubs and a few private sessions, but he’s never called for a night with a prostitute. He has never needed to. Usually just a few drinks and being surrounded by strangers do it for him, but he knows it's not going to work this time. He just wants to touch someone, to hold them, anything.

He overheard two men in the elevator talking about a young boy who is very cheap and very pretty. Louis didn’t want to, thought it was a bit ridiculous, a bit not him. But the man was telling the other one the number and he just happened to memorise it until he was back in his office and could write it down. The boys name was apparently Harry- Harry _Styles_ \- and would do just about anything for you. Desperate for the money. And, _okay._

He dials the number.

It rings. Once, twice.

“Hello?”

The voice is deep and smooth, oddly familiar. Louis racks his brain for a Harry Styles and comes up short. Racks his brain for a face to the voice and comes up even shorter.

“Uh, hi,” Louis says. He clears his throat, though, tries to deepen his voice so he sounds more intimidating for a reason he isn’t sure of, “hello. Is this Harry Styles?”

“It is,” the voice _purrs._

Louis swallows.

“Are you free for, uh,” he pauses, “tonight?”

“That I am,” the voice says, sweet and lovely, “like to see me, babe?”

Louis feels his chest tighten. “Yes.”

The boy hums, before, “I’ll need an address,” the sweet voice pauses, popping his lips, “and perhaps a time to be there.”

Louis tells the boy his address, in which he gets a hum in reply, and then he says, “can you just- come now? Well not _now_ ,” Louis stutters, still trying to mask his voice, “just, as soon as possible.”

Louis thinks he might be able to _feel_ the boys smirk through the phone line, “Bit desperate are we, love?”

“You could say that,” Louis replies as smoothly as possible. He just doesn't want to be alone. Anything is better than being alone.

“Okay, what would you like me to wear?”

Louis blinks, furrowing his eyebrows. “Wear?”

“I can put on some pretty little panties for you, got a lot of things I can put on for you, actually.”

Louis’- _oh._

“Just… whatever you like. What’s comfortable,” he replies.

A silence fills the phone. A hesitant type of silence that’s from both ends and Louis wonders if he has said something wrong. He has just never done this before. God, he is so fucking alone.

He hears the voice over the phone clearing itself, though, and, “Alright, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Louis tries to fix his messy hair again, wanting so desperately to look nice for this fucking _prostitute_. He changes into a clean pair of pants, and then into a clean pair of slacks, and then he is in an entirely new outfit, a dark blue button down covering his chest, black slacks that hug his arse, hips, his curves. He bites at his lips, trying to darken them, trying to make them look larger, possibly. _God_ , he’s making himself look presentable. Presentable for a prostitute, for a boy who gets fucked by men and wears panties. Louis is already regretting this.

There’s a knock at his door.

 

_its been so long_

 

Louis wraps his fingers around his doorknob, and carefully twists. He opens it just a crack to look out and- oh.

_Oh._

He finds himself blinking, quickly pulling the door open. The boy- _the boy_ \- the one from the bus stop. The one with the wet hair and big eyes. The gorgeous one. The pretty, shy, and blinking boy, so soft. Then it hits him, why the voice sounded familiar, it was his. The voice, and _oh_. It's the boy from last week.

 _Oh._ Louis has just the prettiest boy in front of him. So pretty and gorgeous. Louis’ can’t stop staring. His heart thumps at just the sight of him, thumps even harder with the thought of the boy selling himself.

“I-,” Louis starts, “Harry?”

The boy blushes a deep red, nodding. His sexy persona is gone, embarrassment blushing over his sweet little body.

“You’re the boy from the bus stop.”

The boy nods again, shyly, looking anywhere but Louis’ eyes.

“I- come in, come in,” Louis rushes, realising he had been making the boy stand in the hallway.

The boy steps in shyly, looking around the large room. Modern and clean and expensive. Louis watches him for a moment, before he turns to shut the door. He stays like that, too. Hand on the doorknob, breathing. It's just, it's the boy, the pretty boy, and he’s a- he’s a prostitute. That just- it makes Louis’ heart feel funny, bad funny. It's just- he had imagined the boy in his home after he saw him at the bus stop. In fact, he did so for two days after he saw the boy. Picturing him curled up in his bed, kissing his cheek. Louis does that a lot. Sees someone pretty and falls in love momentarily. He really is lonely, it's not an exaggeration. He’s fucking _pathetic_.

When Louis turns back around, the boy is working on the zipper of his jeans, and then rolling them down his thighs. Underneath is a pair of sleek, white panties, and as he pushes his jeans further down, he stops to holds onto the tops of stockings, making sure they don't roll down with the jeans. They’re white, lace trim at the top. Louis’ just- wow. He can’t. He’s not breathing. This boy. Thi- _no_.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks quickly.

The boy looks up startled, eyes wide. “I’m- I’m taking my jeans- don’t you want to- um,” he coughs, looking away embarrassed.

“No- don’t- _jesus_ , put- put your jeans back on, _christ_ ,” Louis forgets about looking nice, and he runs his fingers through his quiff again. He swallows, closing his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.

Harry furrows his eyebrows, though, stilling his movements, “I- _what_?”

Louis blinks his eyes open and looks at the boy, his eyes trail over the boy's pretty little body before he realises what he is doing and quickly looks away, “Put your damn clothes back on.”

“ _Why_?” Harry asks, nervous and also a bit appalled.

Louis blinks, mouth falling open in disbelief. He just- he isn’t sure why. He blinks again, walking past Harry and keeping his back to the boy.

“Is it-” the boy starts, sounding nervous, sad and nervous, “do I not _look_ good?”

Louis whips back around, setting his hand on his hip. “You look just fine. But just- pull your pants up, _please_.”

Harry freezes, and then his soft and worried expression changes to a glare. He crosses his arms over his chest, chin up, “No.”

“ _No_?”

“No, not until you tell me why.”

“Because I fucking told you too,” Louis yells incredulously.

“Why?” Harry nearly pleads, “am I not good enough for you?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, too quickly.

“Then what is it? Whats wrong with me?”

Louis can see tears welling in the boys eyes. And fuck, _no_. This isn’t what Louis wanted he just- he just wanted _company_ , someone to take away the loneliness. Not- not a prostitute, and definitely not for this boy to cry. He would never want that.

“Hey, hey,” Louis’ voice softens, and he steps toward the boy. The boy tries to act tough, tries to come off as if he has himself, but it's obvious he doesn't. Louis brings his hands up to the boys cheeks, cradles his face in his palms, and thumbs over the tears that drip down the boys cheeks. “Don’t cry, please don't cry.”

“ _Why_?” Harry pouts, “I could have other calls right now. I need this money. I can’t just waste my time like this, and you won’t tell me what’s _wrong_ with me. Why don’t you want my clothes off? Are your expectations for prostitutes that fucking high? Whats wrong with _me_.”

Louis’ heart breaks at the small sob that escapes through the boys big and beautiful lips, “Oh, love,” he cooes softly, “it's not you. I promise it's not you.”

Harry shakes his head angrily, tries to step away from Louis but trips over the jeans that are around his ankles, and he lands on his bum. He cries harder at that, cheeks flushing red as he collapses in on himself, tucking his head into his knees, trying to hide himself from the older man.

Louis quickly kneels in front of the boy, one hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles, and the other pulling the tight jeans from the boys ankles, careful not to snag the soft fabric of the stockings beneath.

“H-Harry?” Louis says, chest tightening.

The boy sobs harder.

Louis swallows, hesitantly wrapping his arms around the boy and pulling him into his chest. “Please, are you okay?”

The boy shakes his head, “Why don't you want to _fuck_ me?”

“I- I-” Louis stutters. What has he done, why did he put himself in this situation? He knew he shouldn’t have called a fucking prostitute. He fucking knew it. He just. No. “I _do_. Fuck,” Louis closes his eyes, groaning in irritation, “you're gorgeous Harry, and I do, just not- I can’t _pay_ to have sex with _you._ ”

“W-what?” Harry says, pulling away from the man's arms and scooting away, “you called me and you don't even have enough _money_?”

“I- n-”

“I need this money, okay? I can’t- I can’t fucking waste my time with people who can’t pay me. What the hell is wrong with you?” his face is red out of both embarrassment and anger now, more tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Harry, no,” Louis says quickly, “I have the money, I have plenty of money, I ju-”

“What?” Harry pleads again, utterly confused, “th-then. What? Is it- what the? Why am I not good enough for you then?”

Louis squeezes his hand into a fist, “It's not that you _aren’t_ good enough, Harry. It's that you _are_ good enough. So, so fucking good enough.”

Harry blinks, “W-what?”

Louis sighs, “You don’t- you’re not a prostitute.”

“ _What_?”  Harry says again.

“You're just- you’re _better_ than that, you’re not- I know you’re not- you don-”

“I have to,” Harry says, “I need the money.”

Louis looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I’ll pay you, for tonight, just- don't leave, okay?”

“I-”

“Please stay,” Louis says weakly, “I’ll pay, I promise. I’ll pay doubl-”

“I can’t do that to you,” Harry says softly, still so confused by the situation, “I can’t just take your money like that.”

“Harry, I have plenty of money.”

“I can’t do-”

“Please,” Louis interrupts, “I just don't want to be alone.”

The silence seeps in. Loud and blaring. Louis is so desperate for someone, anyone. He called a fucking prostitute expecting a shitty fuck and he got this beautiful and gorgeous boy. He can’t- he just knows this boy is better than that. Everything about him screams that he is so much better than what he has to do. Louis just- he doesn’t want to be alone.

It’s silent for just a moment longer, where the green-eyed boy just watches, eyebrows lined, before he softly whispers, a bit hesitant, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, an unsure smile appearing, “that, um, that would be nice.”

Louis can’t even hold back his grin, running his fingers through his fringe again, “Here,” he says, stumbling up and offering a hand to the boy on his floor, “I’ll get you some sweats, okay?

“Oh, uh,” Harry swallows, looking down to what he is wearing and blushing, “Yeah, that, um, that would be nice.”

Louis makes sure not to glance below Harry’s waist as he takes Harry’s hand in his own, and pulls the boy up. He is so light, so tall but little and light. He sort of, kind of, really likes that.

“Oops,” Harry says, stumbling into Louis a bit. He giggles though, as he falls into the man. The man giggles in return, eyes bright as he looks up into Harry's.

“Hi,” he replies with a small snicker, steadying Harry with a hand to his shoulder.

Harry blushes deeper, continuing to laugh softly as the man leads him to his room.

“Here,” he says, “this ’s the bathroom. I’ll bring you some sweats to change into.”

Harry nods, stepping into the bathroom. It's big. Big and nice and clean. There is a wide bathtub and a separate shower with a wall of glass instead of a cheap shower curtain. He turns, and looks at himself in the big and clean mirror, eyeing the light coloured undies and lace. All he can do is wonder if he wasn’t pretty enough, if the man from the bus stop didn't like it. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he would have preferred dark lace, sex appeal. Or maybe he thought it was gross, seeing a boy in panties. He’s just so overwhelmed, the man is so pretty. Harry’s just- he wonders if he is really that _worthless_.

He bites his lip, wrapping his arms around his chest. He knows he’s a pretty boy, he knows, but he feels so small, and not the good kind, the bad kind. He feels so insecure. He can't help but think that maybe the man is being so nice out of pity. First he soaks himself in the rain, and now he shows up as a prostitute.

“Here you go.”

Harry looks up quickly to see the pretty man in the doorway, a soft pair of black sweats in his hands. He takes them thankfully, not meeting the man's eyes. “I- thank you, um,” Harry bites his lip, before laughing under his breath, “I don't- I don't know your name.”

“Oh, it's, uh. Louis. Louis Tomlinson,” Louis laughs too, shoving his hands into his slack pockets.

“Thank you, um, Louis.”

 

_maybe you’re fireproof_

 

“I have some leftover chinese food from yesterday,” Louis calls from the kitchen when he hears the bathroom door snick open.

“Um, okay.”

Louis bites his lip, rummaging through the fridge and pulling out the different take-out boxes. He has a swirling feeling in his tummy. Both anxiety and awkwardness, but also a nice feeling. Because despite the fact that his company was originally a call for a fuck, he now has a pretty boy, with a shy smile and timid steps, and he isn’t alone. It's the boy from the bus stop, in _his_ home. Louis doesn’t mind the awkward feeling, because the good feeling is overpowering.

It's not until he hears a small gasp that he looks up from what he is doing in the fridge. He blinks, watching as the curly haired boy practically skips to the small window that is in his kitchen.

“We’re so high up!” the boy says in awe, “you can’t tell unless you’re looking out a window. Wow.”

Louis can’t help but to bite his lip, smiling at how young the boy seems, so amazed by something that he himself rarely notices anymore. It's so special, makes his tummy somersault. He doesn’t even notice that he has been staring until Harry’s eyes are meeting his, so pretty and green, and his dimples- _dimples_ \- are caving in.

“This is beautiful!” he says, eyes bright. Louis can tell that that is special, the brightness in them. Something that wasn’t there when he was holding the umbrella over the two of them.

He clears his throat, finding himself smiling as he looks back to the fridge, and he gets the rest of the boxes out. He pulls out two plates- _two_ \- and splits the leftover food onto both of them. He puts a wet paper towell over them, and then pops them into the microwave. He turns his attention back to Harry, watching the way the boy gets on his tiptoes to try and see more, pressing his cheek to the window.

The microwaves goes off, and Louis takes out the plates, getting them both forks. "C’mon love, got a surprise for you,” he says easily, so naturally. It feels so nice, having someone to talk with.

He hands Harry his plate, and watches the way his face falls when he has to leave the window. Harry follows him back down the hallway to where the bathroom is, except this time he is going to a different door. Before Louis lets him in, he turns and smiles, “if you thought the view in the kitchen was good, you're going to _love_ this.”

Harry’s eyes widen, and Louis can’t hold him back any longer. He quickly opens his door, and Harry _squeaks_ when he sees the window. He runs in, carefully holding his plate of food as he gets closer to the wall sized window. The sun is slowly going down, making the small patches of sky showing through the clouds swirl in shades of pink. The skyscrapers in the distance make the view more extravagant, the long shapes with blinking lights against the darkening sky like diamond rings pressed into expensive fabrics.

Harry is _beaming_ , hand pressed to the glass like a little kid as he stares out at everything, looking down and seeing cars and people, bug sized compared to how high up he is in the tower of flats. His mouth is hung open, lips upturned in an amazed smile. He really is like a child in wonder, so happy over such a little thing.

“I can get us some pillows, yeah? We can sit here and eat.”

“Really?” Harry asks, bouncing with joy as he looks to Louis with the widest and greenest of eyes.

“‘course.”

Louis grabs the pillows from his bed, throwing them to the floor where Harry scoots them closer to the window with his feet. He plops down on one of them, and Louis does the same, sitting across from the practical stranger. The prostitute he invited into his home.

“Good?” Louis asks.

“So good,” the boy says honestly, “I haven’t had food like this in so long.”

Louis looks up, watching the boy shovel noodles into his mouth. It breaks Louis’ heart, it does. Because Harry is eating the food like it's the best thing he has ever had, and it's not even fucking _fresh_ , it's a day old. Louis swallows around nothing, looking to his own plate. He feels so awkward, having enough money to have things as simple and little as chinese food, when someone as pretty and seemingly wonderful as Harry can’t.

“I wish I could see this everyday,” Harry says with a mouthful, looking back out the window, “it's so beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Louis says, watching Harry instead. He’s never really noticed the view, the window, any of it. He’s never appreciated it. Never had a reason to, never had someone to see it with. All he’s ever wanted was someone. Anyone. Whether it be a friend, or a lover, or a _prostitute_. It doesn't, matter, he just needs someone.

“Yeah,” Harry nods seriously, “ _so_ beautiful.”

They eat quietly, Harry pointing out helicopters and airplanes he sees that zoom in the lessening sky, mumbling over and over again how beautiful, how _gorgeous_ , it is. Louis doesn’t think he has ever seen someone so happy by something, so seemingly _passionate_ about something, so small. He is so amazed by it all, Harry is, the breathtaking view.  Louis just feels less lonely, more full, and so, so less alone.

“How old are you, Harry?” Louis asks. He’s laying on his side, looking out the side of the window with his elbow in the pillow, palm supporting his head. His plate is pushed to the side, empty.

“20,” Harry hums simply, sitting cross-legged on the pillow, “you?”

“27,” Louis murmurs easily.

Harry hums in response. It’s dark now, deep hues of purples and blues and black, and even though the view is still pretty amazing, it isn’t _as_ amazing, not nearly as beautiful. There are too many clouds out, covering some of the prettiest parts of the skyline.

Louis sighs. He knows Harry should be leaving soon. No matter how much he wants him to stay, he know he should be getting back to his home. Louis doesn't want him being up too late, wants him to get sleep. Wants him happy. Wants a lot of things for this boy.

He stands up.

“I’ll be right back, yeah?”

Harry just nods, hands folding in his lap as he blinks his big eyes.

Louis scrambles for his checkbook. He can’t help but to bite his lip. He is buying- he is buying someone's company. He is- _god_ , he is so _lonely_.

He writes out the check.

 

“Here you go,” he murmurs, handing it down to the boy.

The boy simply blinks, hesitantly taking the piece of paper. Then his mouth drops, “Louis, this- this is too much, I can’t-”

“Harry, I have plenty of money. Just… take it, okay?” Louis shoves his hands back in his trouser pockets, smiling sadly, “I really enjoyed your company, so.”

“But 200 pounds? Louis, that's- that's _ridiculous_. I can’t accept this from you.”

“Please, Harry. Please accept it. You need it and I- I have plenty of money to spare. I- I’m just one person to take care of, so it's okay. I-”

“You called me as a _prostitute_ though. I didn’t- I never got you off. I can’t just accept money like this, its-”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, “this was better than a fuck, okay? I liked this. Now please, just... take the money.”

Louis rides with Harry in the elevator to the main floor, and then insists on getting him a cab home. It’s another argument, and Harry contends he can walk home just fine, but Louis doesn’t want to risk this boy. This lovely boy.

He swears he sees tears in the boys eyes when the cab pulls away from the curb.

_’cause nobody saves me baby the way you do_

 

 

**iv.**

Louis calls again four days later. He is shaking with the anxiety of the silence of his so fucking expensive and so fucking empty and lonely flat. The isolation seeping in, his need to be needed. He just wants to take care of something, anything. He has considered trying to sneak a pet in. Considered a lot of things. He just needs something.

He calls - and he gets voicemail.

He keeps calling, tries to get a hold of the boy he hardly knows, but he comes up short every time. He chokes on his tears, his loneliness, on the thought of the young boy letting someone fuck him for money.

He’s attached, he knows.

 

**v.**

_i think im gonna win this time_

 

“Hello?.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis moans, “need you so bad, baby. P-please.”

“L-Louis?”

“Yeah, s’me. Do you think- tonight? So hard, been thinking ‘bout you in that lace.”

“I- I, yeah. Yeah I’m com- on my way, on my way. Yeah.”

Harry’s _hard_. He is so fucking hard and he is trying to ignore it as he slips on black stockings with red, lace trim, smoothing it over his thighs. He quickly pulls on a pair of black panties that match the stockings, same bright red lace trim decorating the hems. He pulls up a pair of tight, black shorts. When he pulls the ends of them down, they cover the tips of the stockings so it simply looks like really, really, tight leggings. He bites his lip, quickly looking through his wardrobe for a top that is sexy.

It's just. This is Louis. The pretty man that has been so kind to him. Harry wants to make him feel good, so good. Be anything he needs to be for the sweet man. He grabs a mesh crop top, looking to the mirror at his appearance. It's sexy. Sexy and intimidating. He knows he looks so fucking good, especially with the way his dick is bulging at the cloth of his bottoms; so hard at the thought of Louis touching him, kissing him. _God_ , he _wants_ it this time. Wants it so bad. And even though the dark, black, and sexy trim isn’t him, he still feels good in it. Because Louis obviously didn’t like the light colours, so he thinks this might be better.

He slips on a long coat to cover up his body on his walk over, simply wearing his tattered boots like last time. His heart is thumping as he gets to the tall building again, thinking about being fucked in front of the giant window in the man's bedroom. His mind wandering to thoughts of cuddling in front of it, soft blankets and cups of tea. The man's hands looked so _soft._

Once inside the elevator, he clicks the double-digit floor multiple times in hopes it gets him there faster even though he knows it won't. It’s so nerve racking, the awful ding of passing each floor until he gets to the right one.

When he gets to the right door, he unbuttons his jackets, and pulls his short shorts up to the comfortable length, showing off the red trim of his sexy stockings. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, reddening them, before forming a fist and knocking.

The door opens quickly, and Louis pulls him in, pinning him to the wall. Harry moans, closing his eyes, waiting for the pretty man to put his hands all over him. He wants it. Wants his hands and mouth and teeth and tongue, _god_ , he wants his cock. Wants to come, wants the man to come, wants everything, anything, all of it.

The man isn’t touching though, isn’t touching at all, in fact, he’s giggling.

 

_riding on the wind and i wont give up_

 

“Hi,” Louis whispers, stepping away from Harry.

“Hi?” Harry asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs, “I just got this new movie and a pizza is on its way, thought you might like to enjoy the two with me?”

“I- _Louis_.”

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll pay you, okay? I just want to hang out, y’know?” he says the last bit quieter, more small. He feels ridiculous, 27 years old and acting so childish.

“Why didn’t you just fucking say that?” Harry yells, “I-” he chokes, tears forming, “this is so _embarrassing._ ”

Louis furrows his eyebrows, before, _oh_. Louis swallows, looking away awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry.”

He looks back to see Harry’s face dark red with anger and embarrassment. He’s _oh_ , he’s hard and in- in _oh_.

Louis tries not to show notice, tries not to look. He inhales. _Fuck._

“You're such an _arsehole_ ,” he yells, “Do you even- do yo- _why_?” the boy sobs, shoulders shaking. Fuck. Fuck.

“Here,” Louis says, not quite meeting the boys eyes. He takes his wrist, carefully leading the trembling boy to his bedroom. Harry manages to trip over his feet in the process though, stumbling and snagging his stockings on the stopper on the wall. They unravel at the ankle to just below his knee, and Harry sobs. They’re just so expensive. So fucking expensive and he’s ruined another pair. So fucking expensive and it's his second pair in a fucking week.

“Aw, love,” Louis murmurs sadly, _stupidly_ , “here, sit down,” he guides the boy to his bed, sitting him down at the end of it.

The boy cries harder; out of embarrassment, and disappointment, and pure _worthlessness_.

 

_i got a feeling deep inside_

 

“I’ll help you, don’t worry sweetie, it’s okay,” Louis coos to the stranger. He grabs the trim on the lace stocking, and carefully rolls it down his thigh and leg, doing the other one the same way. "You're okay, darling. I-I didn’t think you’d come over again if it wasn’t for, um," Louis swallows, the word sex burning his tongue, he feels so bad, so guilty, “y’know.”

Harry cries harder at the apology, at all of Louis. Because the man is so sweet and gentle, running circles into his ankles, and _apologising_. The man just wants him to- to _hang out_. Someone wants him around for something other than sex and he just can't fucking believe it.

“I-I-”

Louis hushes him, squeezing his little ankles one last time before walking to his closet. “Please just stay for the night,” he says, “I’ll pay you, a-and I just- I don’t know. I want to be _around_ you.”

He gets out another pair of his sweats and one of his t-shirts, handing them to the boy. “Um,” Louis rubs behind his neck, “is this- is this weird?”

“W-what?”

Louis sighs, “I just- I really don’t like being alone. And like, is it weird? That I’m calling you and stuff?”

Harry blushes, eyes watery, looking away, “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Harry blinks, tears spilling down his heated cheeks, running his thumb over the sweats fabric, “Not a lot of people call me to just hang out.”

Louis swallows, and finds himself picking at the watch that's still on his wrist, “Are you going to leave?”

The boy shakes his head, his curls bouncing.

Louis smiles, sadly, but it’s there, “Good.”

Harry finds himself laughing then, cheeks wet, shaking his head at the man. “Get outta here so I can change,” he mumbles in a mock mood.

Louis grins, not holding back the chuckle that leaves his lips as he leaves the room.

 

_its takin’, its takin’ all i got_

 

Louis watches the boy eat the pizza hungrily, big bites with red sauce on the sides of his mouth. He flicks his tongue out with each bite, mouth opened wide with loud smacks and happy hums. A bit of the pizza grease gets on his nose, and his cheek, and it should be gross, it should be. But Louis is smiling, impossibly endeared by the boys actions, little sounds, little blinks, little everything.

“Thank you so much, this is _so_ great,” he says with a full mouth, similar to last time when he was talking about the window, “I love pizza so much.”

“Do you?” Louis asks, taking a bite of his own slice, much more interested in watching the other boy eat.

The boy nods quickly and seriously, swallowing. “S’my favourite. Love it so much,” he practically moans.

Louis swallows, blushes, and looks away. Harry is a lot. So much. Yeah.

“We can try and make one sometime?” Louis tries to sneak in subtly, staring down at his plate as he says it.

“I-” the boy stops, “okay.”

 

_yeah its takin' its takin' all i got_

 

Louis is sat at his end of his brown, leather couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table in front of it, the movie playing. He has a head of curls in his lap, Harry shifting to different positions to get comfortable before Louis had just told him he could lie down on him if he wanted, and he did. The boy snuggled in, slipping a hand under Louis’ leg and wrapping it around to hook his fingers together above the man’s knee.

Louis didn’t mind. Not at all. He has his fingers slowly playing with the boys curls. It startled him at first, but eventually the boy sunk into the touch, allowing Louis to play with his hair. Louis’ gentle, enthralled. His fingers feel like they belong where they are, twirling the brown curls and tucking strands of them behind the boys ear. It's too natural.

Harry keeps stealing glances from the flat screen tv up to the man, catching his eyes and smiling; blushing and tucking his head back in its rightful position. The soft touches make him feel buzzed, little and small and tiny. He never thought he’d have this, never knew this was ever achievable.

“Just for the record,” Harry hears, “I think the white looks much better on you.”

 

_cause nobody knows you baby the way i do_

Louis pays him 100 pounds this time, because the boy really did refuse another 200. Louis pays for another cab though, and lets him keep his sweats and t-shirt, and also sends him home with a tupperware bowl full of pizza.

 

 

**v.**

Louis calls whilst he is still at work.

He calls then because it is early, and he wants to get the green-eyed boy before a greasy, middle-aged man cheating on his wife does. He would rather him be at his house, staring silently out his big window for a few hours, then to be sitting around alone knowing that the boy is being fucked for a small amount of money. He feels like he’s needed, he does. Even if Harry doesn’t need him, Louis can still feel like he does.

He’s just- he’s taking care of him in small ways. Even if Harry isn’t asking for it, or expecting it, he is doing it. It is just something Louis needs for himself. He has always taken care of things, and that is where he finds most of his joy. He’s giving away his money and letting a prostitute into his home and he kinda never wants to stop.

Harry comes.

He’s wearing the same black pair of sweats Louis gave him, the soft ones with the fleece inside and big pockets, and a simple white shirt that has a small stain at the bottom of it. When Louis opens the door, he finds the boy nervously twiddling his thumbs, rocking back and forth on his heels, a pair of well-kept sneakers covering his feet.

“Hi,” he says quietly, a small smile.

Louis grins, his tummy jumping, “Hey.”

 

_its been so long_

 

Louis slides the top mattress of his bed to the floor, and drags it to the giant window. He ignores Harry’s small protests, telling him he can just sit on a pillow again, _its fine_. Louis just won’t have that though.

“What do you do?” Harry has a blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, bare toes wiggling as he looks out the large window. He looks so content, as if he could spend the rest of his life in the exact spot.

Louis clears his throat, rolling onto his side and laying his head in crossed arms as he stares up at the boy, “Executive of a branch at the, um,” Louis squeezes his eyes close, “the company over by Westridge, uh. Basically we’re just a fancy, expensive bank, and instead of partnering with like, individuals, we partner with businesses and companies.”

Harry listens intently, eyes wide with wonder, “Is it fun?”

Louis laughs, eyes crinkling as he hides his head in his arms. “Eh, ‘spose it can be. Mostly just work, not much time to notice if its fun or not,” Louis pauses, “sometimes the other branches have parties and you can sneak in and take some cookies. I usually make a pile in my bottom drawer on those days.”

The younger boy giggles, eyes shining as he tries to cover his mouth with the corner of the duvet. Louis peaks an eye open, turning his head from his arms to stare at the boy.

He sighs happily, enjoying the way the laughter fills his flat, fills the little void in his body.

“So, what do you do then?” Louis asks, “like, besides... _y’know._ ”

“Um,” Harry starts, shifting his thighs, “I work at a bakery.”

“How’s that?”

Harry shrugs shyly, “I like it a lot. I wish I could do it, um, more full time?” he sighs, “at least enough to not to have to… uh, yeah.”

“Aw hun,” Louis starts with a frown, “I bet you’re a great baker.”

It makes the boy smile, looking down with red cheeks, “thank you.”

“I would love to try something by you sometime.”

Harry bites his lip, breaking into a wide smile, “Really?”

Louis laughs, “Yes, ‘course I would. If you give me a list of stuff you’d need I can pick it up and you can use my kitchen.”

“What?” Harry says, eyes wide as he looks to Louis, “Really? You- you’d let me use your kitchen?”

Louis sits up, eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah, of course I would love. I- _yes_!” he says excitedly, reaching out and touching Harry’s knee.

“I- _thank you_ , Louis,” his eyes fill with tears, “thank you so much, I- I would love to make you something, anything.”

“Aw babe,” Louis frowns, the kind of frown when you see something so precious, “c’mere now,” Louis opens his arms, letting the boy cuddle into his side, and yes, this is what he wants. He wants to hold someone, make them feel good, make them feel loved. The way Harry curls into his side, letting Louis wrap his arms around his shoulders, it makes him feel that way. “I’ll let you make as much as you want, love.”

Harry hiccups, “Really?”

Louis kisses the side of his head, unabashedly smelling the boys curls, “Can use my kitchen as much as you want, can use anything here as much as you want.”

“I don’t- I don't have a kitchen at my flat,” Harry states, letting Louis hold him.

That makes Louis’ heart squeeze.

“You have mine, love. Can use it as much as you like.”

Harry rubs at his eye, sniffling. “Why’re you so nice to me?”

“What?” Louis asks.

“You don’t even know me. And like, why’re you so _good_ to me?”

“I- I- I’m not sure,” Louis murmurs, “you're just- you're really lovely, and I want to treat you good, an-”

Harry closes his eyes, shaking his head, “Please don't say it's cause you feel bad for me, I don’t want you to feel bad for me.”

“No, love,” Louis murmurs, brushing the boys curls to the side, “I’m just- it’s not that, just like- you’re better than that.”

“Why?” Harry whispers.

“Cause- cause- because you're not just a fuck, Harry. You’re not just a fuck, or a fuck up, and I just- I like your company.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I’m just- I don’t like to be alone,” Louis confesses again, “I like knowing you're here and not- not somewhere else.”

 

 

**vi.**

Louis keeps calling, every day. On the weekends he calls early in the morning, invites Harry over and they sit in front of the window. It's a bit awkward at first, mostly just sitting in silence with mumbled questions since they don't know each other very well. Harry always sits in the same cross-legged position, whilst Louis rolls around, usually itching to get closer to the boy. He just wants to hold him, is all.

After the first straight week of hanging out, Harry starts to open up. Louis is surprised, really, because Harry is this smiling, and giggling boy who likes to tease and joke and snicker. He is so bright, so lovable, a ray of light.

He finds out that Harry likes to cuddle, too. He finds out that the boy loves to be touched, and held, and to have his hair played with. Louis does that for him. He’ll twirl his fingers in the boys curls, brush them behind his ears, and tease his nose with the tips of the longer strands. He traces circles into the boys arm, holds him close, and peppers little pieces of his skin with light kisses. They fall into routine so easily, opening up to each others company.

(Louis buys ingredients for the boy to make a pastry. He watches the boy knead at dough, mix pastes, happily humming as he makes his way around the kitchen. Louis thinks he looks like a professional, like he could be one day. He's so passionate about it, he is. Louis hasn't met a lot of passionate people in his life)

But then Harry has to leave, and Louis is giving away another 50-100 pounds so the boy won’t go to someone else. It makes Harry feel so guilty.

One day Harry shows up with a limp and bruises around his wrists. Louis chews the inside of his cheek, watching the boy flinch when he sits on the mattress in front of the window, stuffing a pillow under his bum. He’s flushed cheeked and not talking.

Louis sighs, jealousy building him, the thought of someone touching him, fucking him, _no_.

“Ha-”

“Don’t.”

“ _Harr_ -”

“Please, Lou,” Harry says, “I didn't- I’m sorry.”

“Don't b-”

“It’s so selfish, _I know_. I just- I’m sorry, you give me so much- I-I- don’t deserve any of it- and I just- I don’t know- “

“ _Ha_ -”

“I’m so _worthless_ , Louis. I can’t- I-I paid off some stuff- and I just- I had to- the doctors- an-and-”

Louis quickly pulls Harry into his arms, shushing the sweet boy. Harry’s sobbing, tears and snot and all. Louis tries to wipe it all away, tears, snot, the man’s touch. He tries to soothe him, calm him down. He winces when his bum moves, and Louis feels so awful. Awful, and sad, and so god damn jealous. He wants Harry. Wants him so fucking bad. He kisses his temple.

He sighs, carefully laying the boy down on the mattress, moving  him so he is on his tummy, and half lying on top of himself. Louis pulls the boy tight against his chest, tugging the duvet over them.

“I’m so,” _hiccup_ , “sorry.”

“Its alright, baby. You’re okay.”

“No it’s not. You're s- so- so good to me- and I-”

“Harry, baby. It’s okay, it's alright, love,” he coos, moving the boys curls from his face, “you're okay.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you, Louis. I don-”

“I’m not disappointed, I’m not. I just- I could have help-”

“No,” Harry says quickly, pulling his head from Louis’ chest, “I don’t want your _money_ , Lou. I don’t want any of it. I hate that you pay me for coming over- I-I- I _like_ being here with you. I- I would still come if you weren't paying me. I feel so guilty- just- _no_.”

Louis rubs the boys back, listening to the sobs pour from the young boys lips. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you, Harry. I don’t want you to sell yourself. I-if you're here, its just better. It's _better_ , Harry.”  

“Louis, its what I _do_ , okay? I’m a _whore_. I’m _worthless_. I-I-”

“Shut _up_ , Harry,” Louis snaps, veins buzzing in anger, “why the fuck would you say that about yourself? You're not a fucking whore, and you're not fucking worthless, _jesus christ_.”

“Lou-”

“No, Harry,” Louis cuts him off, “you're not those fucking things and you _know_ it. You're better than that. You're so much better. Just-" Louis closes his eyes, trying to calm down a bit, "let me help you, Harry.”

“I don’t _want_ your money, Louis. I just want _you_ ,” Harry quiets, sniffling, “I just want you, Louis.”

Louis’ heart leaps, and he turns his head so he can rub his nose against Harry’s. “You’ve got me, babe. I’m here, always here. Y-you're my best friend, Harry.”

Harry buries his nose into Louis’ neck, pressing closer, “‘nd you're mine.”

 

_its been so long_

 

“Let me help you, Harry,” Louis murmurs, “let me help you find a job. One that pays enough, _please_.”

Harry’s silent, but Louis can feel his eyelashes shuddering against his neck. God.

“I- there’s a little cafe on my office floor. I could- I could get you a job there. It would pay enough- an-and you can bake- and it's more hours and just- _please_.”

Louis can feel Harry’s eyes squeeze close tightly against his skin, and he continues to rub the boys back, rubbing all that he can into the boy to convince him that he is better than what he does.

“I can help you, Harry. I can do that for you, baby,” he says quietly.

“You- you hardly know me. Why-”

“I _do_ know you Harry,” Louis insists, “I’ve been calling you over for nearly a month, and- and I’ve known you better than I’ve known anyone, Harry. I just- I put all my time into getting where I am, and I- I never had time for people- Harry-”

Harry pulls back, eyes scanning Louis’ face.

“When I said I was lonely, I-I meant that. I get so _alone_ , I can’t like, _handle_ it. You make that better. I- I've tried talking to other people, its you, Harry," Louis bites his lip, whispering, "its you.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, a tear dripping from his face and onto Louis’. He leans down, kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth, and then his cheek, “Okay.”

O-okay?” Louis says, eyes widening, “you’ll let me?”

Harry bites his lip, nodding hesitantly.

"You promise?"

"Yeah."

 

_you must be fireproof_

 

Louis beams, grabbing Harry’s face and peppering it in big, sloppy kisses. He puts one to the boys nose, his forehead, his eyes and cheeks and chin and both his bottom and top lips. The feeling in his tummy swells, pulling the boy tighter to his body. He grabs Harry's hand, gently holding it as he inspects the bruises on his wrists. He kisses each one, burying his nose into the soft skin that is blotched with dark purples and blues.

“Gonna have to learn my tea order now, love.”

Harry _snorts._

 

 

**vii.**

It's two weeks later when Louis has the news for Harry that he has got the job. Louis couldn’t be _happier_. Because now he gets to see the beautiful boy at his job. He can call him to his office whenever he wants since he’s the boss of the branch, wing,  _and_  the floor his office is on, along with everything else on the floor (like the cafe.) He gets to spend impossible amounts of time with him if he really wants too, hell, he could set his desk up in the cafe if he insisted. He _won't_ , but like, he _could_. It's not just that though, it's the fact that Harry has a _good job_. A job that can make him enough money where he doesn't need to sell himself. He gets to bake, and cook, and do what he loves. Its a good job, fucking great, _fantastic_ , job. It is.

It's quite a fancy little cafe on the floor, full time. Louis usually gets his lunch there, and all his snacks too... and drinks. They have the most expensive and best brands in coffee and tea and cream. He works in a big place, an expensive place, of course it's fancy. Harry deserves the job, too, he does. Louis has known the boy, spent enough time with him to learn him. Knows how when he was of age, his father kicked him out. He had enough money to get a train pass to the city. He knows that prostitution was the easiest way for him to make money. He knows that Harry’s a good person, someone who doesn’t deserve the cards he’s been dealt.

He skips through the internet ads online for pizza shops in the city whilst he is at work, that is until he finds a fancy shop that apparently has the best pizzas around. Okay. He gets off early and picks the pizza up, hot and fresh and smelling so, so good. He pulls his mattress back to the floor again. He washes all the sheets and covers, makes it smell nice and good, soft against skin. He rummages through his cupboards for candles, and then sets them up around his bedroom, dims the lights and flicks matches to get the candles all burning. He gets out two wine glasses, and his new, fancy bottle of wine he just _happened_ to pick up.

It's good. It's a surprise and it's good. Harry got the job. _He got the job_.

“Hey Lou,” Harry says when Louis opens the door for him. He takes a step inside the flat, kissing Louis' cheek whilst doing so.

“Harold,” Louis scolds, “I thought I told you that you could just walk in.”

Harry blushes, smile spreading across his face, “m’sorry,”

Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. He takes in a deep breath, biting his lip as a smile spreads over his face. Harry watches him with that look. He’s kicking his shoes away, a bit off from the way Louis’ watching him.

“ _What?_ ” he chuckles nervously.

“I have a surprise for you,” Louis murmurs simply, smiling. He looks over Harry’s body, can tell he’s shivering since its getting colder out. He gave the boy one of his umbrellas, which Harry had left in the doorway of his flat. He’s in the sweats Louis gave him as well, and a small sweater. It just won’t do though, Louis decides.

“Oh great,” Harry says sarcastically. He knows Louis likes to spoil him, even if it is just with a new thing of socks, or a yummy dinner, or, y'know, the _little_ things.

Louis tuts, shaking his head, “Stay here, babe. Gonna get you m’ fave sweater. Look like you're gonna get a cold.”

Harry blushes, like he did that rainy day when the man held his umbrella over his head. He really is the sweetest person Harry’s known, so lovely and gentle. Louis’ so good to him.

Louis jogs around the corner, big grin on his face as he slides into Harry with his socks against the hardwood floor. Harry bursts into laughter, opening his arms to catch the man and falling on his bum. There is a sweet smelling sweater shoved into his face, and a body is tucked on top of him. Louis giggles, shifting against the boy. Their legs are tangled, and Harry shakes with laughter.

Louis snickers too, pulling back to see Harry’s face covered by the sweater. He bites his lip, sneaking his head under the sweater and feeling Harry’s laughter hit his face.

“Hi,” Louis whispers, smile covering his face. He feels like a teenager, giddy and happy and blushing.

“ _Hi_ ,” Harry whispers back, still giggling softly, big eyes bright and beautiful. He watches Louis’ face soften, his smile gentle. Before he knows it, Louis is leaning down, kissing his jaw softly. Harry melts into the gentle touch, heart racing, face burning. He really, really likes the man on top of him.

Louis pulls back, smiling, eyes glittery. “Better put this on before you catch that cold, huh?”

Harry laughs in response as Louis clumsily gets off of him. He takes the hand the man offers him, and lets himself be lifted up, stumbling into the man's chest. He erupts into another fit of giggles, and Louis laughs too, steadying the boy with a hand to his hip.

Both of their hearts are in their throats.

Harry strips his sweater finally, pulling down Louis' bigger and softer one. It’s big on him, which means its probably huge on Louis. He smiles though, rubbing his sweater paws over his pink cheeks and grinning impossibly big.

“S’my favourite cause its so big and cosy.”

“Its _my_ favourite too,” Harry murmurs softly, melting into the soft fabric. Its so big, so soft, it is.

Louis sighs one last time, before taking the end of the sweater Harry is wearing and tugging it lightly, pulling the lanky boy to his bedroom. “Got good news for you, sweetheart.”

Harry can’t help but to giggle, blushing at the small name. Louis likes doing them, pet names, uses them more often than not.

Louis doesn’t hesitate or freeze leading Harry into his dimly glowed room, just pulls him in with a shy smile and watches the way Harry’s eyes widen.

“L-Louis?”

“Yes, dear,” Louis says softly, sitting on the mattress, and nodding to the spot across from him.

“What is all this?” Harry asks quietly, looking around in wonder at all the candles, the wine, _pizza_. Its so pretty. Pretty and romantic and so, _so_ lovely.

“Got good news for you, said that,” Louis smiles, tilting his head toward Harry, “but first, we eat.”

Louis puts the pizza box between them, and he can’t help but to giggle whilst he watches the younger boy hurriedly grab a slice. He takes a big bite, a little bit of pizza sauce already smearing its way on his face.

Louis chuckles, leaning over the pizza and wiping at the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry simply grins in return, taking another big bite of his pizza. Louis smiles back, licking his thumb, and, oh. That makes Harry’s eyes widen, makes him chew slower. His eyes train on Louis, the way he's sucking the sauce from his thumb, _oh_.

He blushes, glancing away, this time taking a small bite. It's dark outside, winter hours rolling in, rain pouring down outside the tower. He swallows, and clears his throat, “So what's the good news?”

Louis rolls his eyes, mumbling, ‘ _such an impatient one_ ,’ and sets his pizza slice down on the pizza box. “Harry,” he says slowly, trying to add suspense but failing miserable, “I hope you've got my tea down, because yo-”

 

_cause nobody saves me baby the way you do_

 

“Oh my god,” Harry says excitedly, cutting Louis off, “Oh my _god!_ Louis, _Lou_.”

Louis beams, watching how happy the boy gets.

“ _Louis_ ,” he says again, tears springing to his eyes, “are you- Louis?”

“You got it,” he murmurs quietly, biting at his smile as the boy lets out a small sob, shoving the pizza box to the side and lunging at Louis.

He wraps his arms around the man's neck, tucking his nose into the soft skin there. His knees are on either side of the man's thighs, pressed firmly to his chest. “Thank you so much, Louis,” he cries, “thank you, thank you, _thank you._ ”

Louis can feel the hot tears against his skin, and he wraps his arms around the boy. He pulls him down so he is sitting in his lap, and grabs the boys legs so they wrap around his waist. He continues by running his hands back up to the boys back, one hand cradling the back of his head as if he was a child, and the other sprawling across his back.

“You’ve done so much for me, Lou, so much,” the boy continues, “you're so good. So, _so_ good to me.”

Louis holds him tighter, shushing him quietly. “You deserve this, love. Deserve it so much.”

Harry sobs harder, clinging to the man, shaking in his arms. “You've changed my life so much, made it so good.”

“Ha-”

“Louis, I- I don’t have to- oh my god, Lou,” he cries, “I can s-stop- I- I don’t-”

“Love, love, shhh, c’mon, calm down,” Louis coos into his ear, “you're okay, c’mon. S’good, yeah? Everything's good, all good.”

Harry nods into his neck, tightening his arms around the man's neck. He presses kisses to his jaw, big sloppy ones that make the man's skin even wetter.

“We have to celebrate now, love. Got you pizza and wine,” Louis says softly, pulling from the boys tight grip. His thumbs run under the boys eyes, “c’mon, no more tears. Everything's good. Everything's happy.”

“You got wine?” Harry mumbles softly, eyes scanning Louis’ face.

Louis nods, biting his lip, “Yup. This is a special occasion. Always get wine on special occasions.”

Harry bites his lip too, moving his hands from around Louis’ neck to his shoulders, and then down his chest, resting them at the end of the man's tummy. Oh, so lovely, he is.

Louis smiles, ignoring the way his skin heats up at Harry’s touch. He turns- awkwardly since Harry is sitting in his lap- and grabs the bottle of wine that is sitting on the floor next to the mattress.

“Jus’ for you,” he murmurs, stretching for the wine glasses too, “all for you.”

Harry squeals, tears drying on his cheeks. He bites on his bottom lip and bounces excitedly. It makes Louis groan softly, eyes fluttering. Then snap open.

He quickly hands Harry his wine glass, and gently pushes the boy from his lap, crossing his legs. He swallows shallowly, pulling out the cork the rest of the way from when he loosened it earlier.

It pops out with a delicious sound that makes Harry hum excitedly, shifting from side to side on the bed, glass held out in front of him. He’s never had wine, never had much alcohol at all, really.

Louis shakes his head happily, stilling Harry’s glass to fill it with the liquid. He quickly pours his own glass, glancing up to see Harry sniffing the edge of the drink childishly.

“Cheers,” he smiles.

“Cheers!”

 

Harry’s a bit… _drunk_ , is the thing. It's expensive wine, actually has some alcohol in it, and Louis didn't expect Harry to keep wanting more of the stuff. He downed a glass and asked for more, downed it and asked for more. More, more, more. Paired with never having drank alcohol, it's enough to get his mind fuzzy, cheeks a lovely red, and eyes glossy. He’s giggling into the sleeves of his sweater, murmuring cute little things that Louis can't even hear.

Louis’ not drunk, not close. He’s buzzed, sure, but his mind isn't blurry at all, body just warm. He watches the giggly boy reach for the large bottle, and he laughs, grabbing Harry’s wrist.

“Louis!” the boys whines, pushing out his bottom lip and blinking his big doe eyes.

“Nope, no more,” Louis says with a scrunched up nose.

“But Louis, I want mooree, so _good_ ,” he says, copying Louis’ face.

Louis pouts, “You’ve already had enough for the night though,” he takes Harry's empty glass, and sets both his and Harry's on the floor. Harry pouts, watching Louis push the glasses away.

“ _Loouu_ ,” he whines further.

Louis just laughs, sticking his tongue out at the boy playfully. It makes the younger boy pout even more, getting on his knees and crawling into Louis’ lap. He plops right down in the man's crossed legs, dangling his arms over the man's shoulders.

Louis smiles at the boy, resting his hands on the boys hips.

“Please,” Harry says softly, biting his bottom lip.

Louis shakes his head, eyes trailing from the boys shiny eyes to his bitten lip.

Harry pouts further, tucking his head into Louis’ neck. He places a lingering kiss there, and then another. Louis’ nails dig into the boys waist uncontrollably, trying to find the strength to push the boy away.

“Please,” the boy murmurs against his skin again, “please daddy.”

And, and.

 _Oh_.

Oh, _fuck_.

Louis gasps, nails digging through the sweater on the boys body. He’s so- oh, _god_.

“I’ll be a good boy daddy, good boy for you. Please lemme have some more,” Harry murmurs into his neck, placing sloppy, drunk kisses to his skin.

“N-no, love. You’ve had too much already,” Louis says, stern as possible. He can feel Harry frown into his neck.

“But _daddy_ , I want _more_ ,” Harry pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest, pouting and glaring at the older man.

Louis bites his lip, scrunching his nose up with a small smile, playing along, “Daddy says no.”

Harry sighs heavily, glaring for just a moment longer before he is sinking in Louis’ lap, tucking his head underneath Louis’ chin and pressing up against his chest. He curls into the man, making himself as small as possible. His mind is blurry and warm and Louis, his daddy, so pretty, so lovely.

He feels so tired. Heavy and tired and warm and lovely. Hands rubbing into his body, so warm, so, so warm.

“Sleepy,” he murmurs, eyelids slipping.

“Yeah, baby?” he hears, feels lips press the top of his head. He nods in response, trying to tuck himself closer. “Alright baby, lay down. Gonna spend the night, kay?”

Harry feels himself nod again. Then he feels himself being shifted, moved, head hitting something soft. So soft. Arms snaking from around, away, leaving. _No_.

He eyes snap open, “Don't leave!”

“Not leaving, not leaving,” Louis reassures, “gonna put the candles out then I’ll be back, okay? Not leaving.”

Harry nods, eyes slipping.

Louis’ heart races as he blows the candles out, cock hard in his trackies. Harry pouting, kissing his neck, whining and begging, calling him daddy, _oh, daddy_.

He’s just- _fuck_. So gone, he’s so gone. He wants to ravish the boy. _God_ , does he. Wants to lick and suck and bite. Touch him; touch him everywhere. His face, chest, arse. Oh, his arse. His perfect little bum. His tiny, little body. So soft.

Louis bites back a groan, carefully getting back down onto the mattress. Harry is making little noises, soft puffs of air falling from his plump, little lips. So pretty.

Louis grabs the duvet and covers the both of them up, settling into the mattress. Harry shifts, moves closer, and tucks his body beside Louis’.

He hums something, eyes closed as he kisses Louis’ shoulder, pressing himself closer. Louis closes his eyes, ignoring how stiff he is getting, and wraps a lazy arm around Harry.

“Lo’ you, daddy.

 

**viii.**

_cause nobody knows you baby the way i do_

 

Louis wakes up with a cold nose nuzzling his neck, a small whine brushing over his collarbone. He stretches, then realises there is someone on his arm. Someone, Harry, oh. Louis blinks, feeling curls rubbing into his jaw. More soft whines being pressed into his skin, a body wiggling next to his, a leg swung over his waist. _Oh_.

“Harry, love?”

He gets a whine in response, and then the head of curls is lifting and a small frown is on the boys lips. He looks so little and cute. Louis can’t help but to bring a hand up to his curls, running it through his lovely locks.

“M’ head hurts,” he pouts softly, eyebrows furrowing.

Louis pouts too, tilting his head. “Sorry baby, you kept drinking, had to take your glass away.”

Harry’s cheeks flush, and he lets out a loud groan. “Oh _god_.”

Louis chuckles, a small yawn escaping his lips in the midst, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so _embarrassing_ ,” Harry groans, burying his head into Louis’ neck again. He seems to like that spot there.

Louis laughs harder, pulling Harry tighter to his body. The younger boy gasps lightly, biting down on Louis’ neck.

_Oh._

“Sorry,” Harry says breathlessly. He’s hard, pressed against Louis’ hip. He tries to pull away, but Louis tightens his grip again.

“It’s okay,” Louis whispers, turning his head so Harry will look at him, “it’s okay,” he says softer, reassuring. The younger boy swallows, eyes flicking down to Louis’ lips.

Louis’ just- maybe he’s drunk right now, possibly. He rubs his hand down Harry’s back, fingers slowly slipping under the boys sweater, touching his skin. _Fuck_ , he’s so soft. So soft, and smooth, so perfect.

Harry lets out a small breath, and Louis watches his face, his pink cheeks, red lips, darkening eyes.

“Know what else you did last night?” Louis murmurs lowly.

Harry bites his lip, shaking his head hesitantly.

Louis smirks, leaning closer to Harry’s face, feeling the boys heavy breath against his face. Louis wants to wake up like this. Wants this boy's cold nose and morning breath, wants his small morning stiffness pressed to him, wants his lips.

His lips are pressed to the boys ear, his heart thumping. He takes a small breath. “You called me _daddy_.”

Harry gasps, hips bucking involuntarily against Louis’.

Louis laughs, not mockingly, or teasingly, just laughs out of happiness.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry says quickly, pulling away, face and neck a deep red. “I’m so sorry, I-”

Louis giggles, pulling Harry tight to him, loving the way he lets out a small whimper. “S’okay, it's okay.”

“W-what?” Harry says, mind fuzzy as he watches Louis smile.

Louis kisses his chin, biting at it playfully. He pulls back, looking over Harry’s confused face.

“Harry, baby?” Louis says softly, “do you,” he pauses, “do you want this?”

Harry blinks, “W-what do you mean?”

“Can- can I kiss you?” Louis breathes, “do you lik-”

Louis’ cut off by a pair of lips being pressed to his own. Soft, and light, and gentle. They’re warm, the redness of them transferring to Louis’ cheeks as he lets his eyes flutter close. He moves his lips; barely, slowly, grazing their lips together in the most delicate of kisses. Heads tilting, mouths light, breaths even lighter.

Harry stops, falls back, and _giggles_. Louis quickly opens his eyes, grin spreading across his face. “What is it, baby?” he murmurs.

Harry bites his lip, his dimples big on his cheeks. He leans in again, nose scrunching up, “I just like you a lot,” Harry says softly, adding in shyly, “daddy.”

Louis’ heart jumps in his ribs, his breath leaving his lungs quickly. Harry giggles again, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, his hand coming up to ring around the shell of his ear and cup his neck.

Louis laughs too, leaning in for another soft peck. “I like you too, baby,” he murmurs softly, "my little boy."

Harry blinks, dazedly, smiling shyly. “I’m- I'm _your_ baby? Your little boy?”

Louis chuckles, nosing at the boys jaw, “If you want love. Want you to be mine. My baby.”

Harry’s smile splits his face, “Kiss me,” he murmurs, “kiss me, daddy.”

Louis presses his lips softly to Harry’s, giving him slow, sluggish pecks, smiles pressed to smiles. Harry ruts shyly against Louis’ hips, still so hard. Louis smiles bigger thinking about it. Kissing him a bit harder, nibbling his bottom lip, before pulling away.

Harry whimpers, eyes snapping open.

“Is baby hard?” Louis says, feeling Harry press harder to his hip.

Harry nods desperately, teeth sunken in his bottom lip. “Please touch me, please.”

God knows Louis wants to, wants to touch him so bad. Not yet though, it's too soon. Way too soon.

“Touch yourself baby,” he murmurs quietly, hand still stroking under the boys sweater.

The boy groans, shaking his head. “Want you to. Want you to touch me, daddy.”

Louis tuts, kissing his little boys nose. “Baby, it's too early, yeah? Wanna take it slow with you, just kissies for now.”

Harry pouts, tucking his head back into the junction between Louis' neck and shoulder, whining softly.

“You can touch yourself though, baby,” Louis murmurs, dragging his hand slowly down Harry’s spine, “touch yourself for daddy.”

Harry’s breath comes out shallow, his hand slowly and shyly tucking inside his sweats. “O-oh,” he moans softly, rubbing over himself. Louis can feel himself growing harder at the noises, at Harry’s flushed cheeks. He let's his own hand slip to the front of his trackies, palming over his dick.

“D-daddy,” the boy stutters, hot breaths flowing down Louis’ chest.

“Can daddy see, baby?” Louis asks as steady as possible, “can I watch my baby boy play with himself?”

Harry’s hips stutter at that, eyes closing as he nods furiously. He stops rubbing himself to push his sweats and panties down. He moves his head from Louis’ shoulder, and places it beside Louis’ on the pillow. He wraps his hand back around himself urgently, whining at the contact.

Louis turns his head and kisses Harry’s forehead, his hand now playing with the duvet that covers them. “I can move this, sweetie? Can I take a peek at you?”

Harry surprisingly giggles at that, his eyes wide and glossy as he shakes his head, ‘yes.’

Louis smiles, and kisses his forehead again, big and sloppy. Then he's pushing the duvet down off of their hips. Harry’s flicking wrist coming into view and then, oh, _oh_.

Harry's sweet little hand, is wrapped around his sweet little dick, and he is making the sweetest, most loveliest, little noises. The tip of his cock is a pretty pink, glistening with pre-cum and so, so pretty. His hand moves quickly up and down, hips bucking up involuntarily into his fist, and he lets out a small gasp.

Louis feels breathless, watching silently as Harry fists his dick. His hands moves to palm at his own cock, that is getting even harder. He looks past Harry's hand and sees the innocent panties at his knees. White and cotton, pretty lace trim. He moans softly, eyes fluttering.

“So pretty baby, so pretty,” he murmurs.

Harry whines, biting into the plushness of his bottom lip.

“Look so good playing with your little cock baby, so pretty. Y’know that?”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat, choking on his breath. He feels so small, so little. His cock isn't really small, not small at all. But oh, oh how he loves being called little. Little and tiny. Baby boy. It's what he has always wanted. To be looked after. Feel pretty and precious and have someone adore him.

“See what you’ve done to daddy? Got him so hard, look so good touching yourself, love it so much.”

Harry glances to Louis’ crotch for the first time. Louis hand is inside of his pants, stroking himself slowly. Oh. His daddy looks so big. So, so big.

“So pretty baby boy,” Louis rasps, “prettiest boy in the world.”

Harry gasps, hips jerking. He strokes himself faster, eyes squeezed close.

“Baby gonna come?” Louis asks breathlessly, quickening the pace on his own cock. All Harry can do is nod desperately.

“Its okay, baby. Come for daddy, let me see you come.”

_He does._

He spurts hot, white come all over his tummy and fist, breathing erratically. Louis groans at the sight, hips thrusting into his tight fist, and only a minute later he is coming too, wetting his pants and trackies.

 

Louis’ in the kitchen, wearing a fresh pair of pants as he fries up some bacon and eggs. He’s nearly done when Harry stumbles in, all milky thighs and soft skin. He’s wearing the big, baggy sweater Louis gave him, and just his pretty lil panties. Looking shy, and pretty, and all Louis’.

As soon as Louis sees him, he has to kiss him. And he does. He presses him to the countertop, pecks him sluggishly, long and drawn out, slow. Fingers pressing into skin, so gentle.

It's not until there is a pop and a crackle that Louis pulls away, quickly grabbing the pan handle and moving it from the stove.

The bacon is a bit crispy, and eggs a little burnt. But Harry is pretty and has plenty of kisses. So precious. Everything's okay.

 

After breakfast they’re lying back down on the mattress, the outside world seemingly quieter due to it being the weekend. Harry is curled up in Louis’ arms, soft squeals and kisses and giggles. Louis adores the boy, he does.

“Wanna know, um, why I like it so much?” Harry murmurs, lax in Louis’ warm arms.

“Like what so much?”

“Y’know,” Harry enunciates, “the- the _daddy_ thing.”

“Oh,” Louis giggles, turning his head so he can look at Harry, “why, love?”

Harry blushes, laying his head on Louis’ shoulder, and placing his hand on Louis’ chest. “I like to feel small and- and precious,” he murmurs, drawing small shapes with his fingers onto Louis’ bare chest, “and I like to be taken care of.”

Louis blinks, biting his lip, “That's okay,” he reassures, “I mean, I- I like to take care of things, so.”

Louis can feel Harry’s smile being pressed into his skin, “We’re boyfriends now, right?”

“I want to be,” Louis says quietly, “but, you're not- the, um- the prostitution thing, it's over?”

Harry nods sadly, “If I have the job.”

“You do, love. You do,” Louis pauses, “do you think I could get you a new phone?”

“What?” Harry asks, pulling back.

“I don't want all of those gross men to have your number. I mean, you're mine now.”

Harry bites his lip, sighing. “Okay.”

Louis smiles, “My boyfriend and baby."

“And you're my boyfriend and,” he pauses, biting his lip shyly, "and my daddy."

****

 

**ix.**

Harry Styles completely changes the building. Sure, the cafe has many things that are simply frozen, waiting to be heated up and put in display, but there _are_ ingredients and Harry _is_ an expertise baker, and soon enough, people from other floors are coming on their breaks to try one of Harry’s delicious goodies. He’s humble, small ‘ _thank you’s_ ’ for the nice praise, never gloating. He is a fucking _fantastic_ baker.

A couple of the men question him, give him a squinted eye, and a ‘ _don’t i know you?_ ’ but Harry simply shakes his head no and says he just moved here. And okay, the men most have short memory, or like, maybe all they paid attention to was his fucking arse because how do you _not_ remember that face, but like, _okay_ , that's fine. _Better_ than fine. Harry is Louis', and Louis is Harry's.

He got the tea right on the very first day. Took it into Louis’ large office and handed it to him with a small smile and a kiss to the cheek. Upon leaving, all he could think about was how much he wants his daddy to fuck him on his big, mahogany desk.

Louis visits him on every break, and then some. Somehow always weaving his way to the counter of the cafe, flirting with the cute boy with curls despite his assistants pleads to ‘ _get to work_.’ He can’t help it, his boy is so perfect. So beautiful and perfect, baking the most amazing of treats, and being the prettiest person in the entire building. Louis hasn’t felt lonely in a long time.

They only last roughly three weeks. Which, _okay_ , is actually longer than both of them thought they would. They figured they'd only last a day, _maybe_ two, three at the most. But no, they last three whole weeks.

But soon enough Harry is strutting in before the cafe has opened with Louis hot, cup of tea, made to perfection for his daddy who is looking so sexy in his _very_ expensive suit.

The kiss on the cheek turned to a small peck, and the small peck turned to a snog, and then the snog turned into Louis pressing Harry into his desk, tongues down each others throats, rutting desperately against each other. Harry plays with his daddy’s tie, twisting and pulling on it, tugging his boyfriend closer, his _daddy_.

It wasn’t suppose to happen, never _ever_ , but eventually Harry is on his knees, gagging on his daddy's cock, eyes watering as daddy’s foot presses against his own bulge that is surely popping the button on his jeans.

Louis’ hands run through his baby's curls, not tugging or hurting, just softly scratching at his scalp so he’ll purr around his flushed cock. The heel of his expensive, leather shoe digging into the boys stiff cock, rubbing at it through the fabric of his jeans. Making him gasp and moan, taking down more of Louis’ dick.

_“Gonna come baby? Gonna mess in your cute little panties for me?”_

Harry looks up to his daddy, eyes watering as he nods ‘ _yes,_ ’ mouth filled with cock whilst he spurts into his panties, trembling from his orgasm. He moans around Louis’ cock, swallowing around him, and that's enough to make Louis’ cock jerk and shoot down his baby’s throat, a little bit of his hot come leaking from the corners of his mouth.

Louis pants, eyes closing as he feels Harry’s trembling fingers tuck his spent cock away. Harry climbs into Louis’ lap, curling in against his chest. His breathing is as close to normal as it is going to get, and he clutches at Louis to never let him go.

 _“M’all sticky, daddy,”_ he says softly, looking down to his crotch where a wet patch has formed. Louis thumbs over the damp spot, making Harry's thighs tremble, a small whine slipping from the boys lips, _“'m sensitive._ ”

_“Sorry baby, just love touching. Love touching you so much.”_

Harry smiles, watching Louis open a drawer and pull out a tub of tissues.

 _“Here baby, daddy’ll clean you all up,”_ he murmurs, unbuttoning Harry’s jeans. He nearly moans at the sight. Harry's pink little panties with a little cupcake on the front, wet spot all over the front side. So precious, he is.

He pulls down the band of Harry’s panties, groaning at the sight of the sticky white come decorating his boy bits. He carefully uses the wet tissue to wipe up all of the come on and around Harry's little cock, making him squeaky clean.

 _“That better baby?”_ he asks, and Harry nods.

_“So much better, daddy. Thank you.”_

 

_cause nobody loves you baby the way i do_

 

 

**x.**

_its been so long_

 

(Harry, baby? I- um. Are you like, clean?”

“Yeah. That's where a lot of my money went. I always used protection and stuff, but I, um, still went to the doctors every month just to make sure.”)

 

Louis ends up just moving his bed so it is over by the window. His kitchen is packed with bakery things he has never heard of. The top drawer of his dresser is filled with ladies knickers, and clothes of a lanky boy mix in his closet. There are two pairs of shoes by the door, and two keys being used to the flat. There is also a sweet giggle that fills the emptiness that use to surround the silence, and a lovely head of curls that always ends up in his mouth in the morning.

Louis’ in _love_.

He only lasted about 3 months of being Harry’s boyfriend before he was practically begging the boy to just move in with him already. But like, _okay_. It worked.

Now Louis gets to go with his boyfriend to and from work. He gets to give him kisses and cuddles and tickles, gets to give him raspberries on his sweet little tummy when he’s sad or pouting. Gets to wrap him in sweaters or lace, gets to call him his. Gets to be his daddy.

Sometimes they’re just _HarryandLouis_ , just boyfriends, stupid, flirty boyfriends who kiss too much. But sometimes Louis is daddy. Sometimes he gets to kiss Harry extra special, pepper him in love and affection, make his baby boy giggle, make his eyes shine. He gets to feel extra needed, and Harry gets to be extra needy, and it works, _god_ , it just works. They fit together so perfectly.

“Sweetheart,” Louis calls upon opening the door to their flat. He has a pretty pink bag in his hand, a little gift for his pretty princess. Harry’s head of curls pop around the corner of the kitchen moments later, sweet smile on his sweet face. He’s all bundled up in a white knit sweater, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, chubby little thighs naked with striped, pink, fuzzy sucks on his little feetsies.

“ _Daddy!_ ” he squeals, biting down on his grin as he goes to hug Louis. He cuddles into his arms, and then sees the pink bag. “S’that?”

Louis chuckles, kissing his baby boys head. “It’s a present, baby. For you.”

“For me?” Harry asks, blinking like the sweet little boy he is.

“Yeah, baby,” Louis smiles, rubbing his nose against Harry’s, “all for you.”

It makes the boy hum happily, leaning down to nuzzle his daddy’s neck, letting his daddy hug him tight. “When do I get it?”

“When do you _want_ it,” Louis snickers, peppering kisses down Harry’s neck and rubbing over the little hairs on the back of his neck.

“Can I have it now?” Harry asks, pulling back to look at Louis. He bites his lip, eyes big and wide.

“What do you say?” Louis smiles, bringing one of his hands up to cradle his boy's face. He watches the boy suck in his bottom lip, blinking innocently.

“Please, daddy,” he murmurs, letting go of his bottom lip.

Louis smiles, thumbing over the plush redness. “So polite, baby,” he murmurs, gasping when Harry's lips wrap around his thumb, sucking on it lightly, little teeth nipping the skin, “my perfect little baby, huh?” he says dazedly, slowly dragging his thumb from the boys hot mouth.

Harry simply nods, trying to hide his dirty smirk. Louis loves his dirty baby, loves him so much.

“C’mon then, sweetie,” Louis says softly, clearing his throat as he reaches for Harry’s hand.

They walk to _their_ bedroom, Harry giggling and skipping happily beside Louis, always so excited for what daddy brings him. He loves presents. Loves them so, so much.

Louis sits down on their bed, grabbing Harry’s waist and standing him in front of his spread legs. He nudges at Harry’s tummy, nuzzling his nose under the soft fabric of the boys sweater and kissing his soft little tummy. Harry hums happily, trying to get closer to the small kisses. Louis stops giving him kisses though, and then there is a loud noise filling the room, and Harry is screeching in giggles, “Daddy!”

Louis chuckles, blowing onto his tummy again, giving him a raspberry that makes his insides giddy and happy. Harry wiggles in his grip, decidedly wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and sitting down on his daddy’s lap so he can't get his mouth on his tummy anymore.

“Daddy, that _tickles_.”

“Does baby not like tickles?” Louis asks, tilting his head up so he can look at Harry who is leaning over him.

Harry giggles, dipping his head down to rub his nose against his daddy’s, “Love tickles,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Louis’.

“Love _you_ ,” Louis murmurs back, pressing kisses to his boys cheeks.

Harry's eyes shine, another small giggle falling from his lips and he presses it to Louis’, kissing him again and again, little tiny pecks just for daddy.

“Don't…. forget…. about…. your…. present…. baby,” Louis says in between the pecks Harry gives him, smiling as their mouths touch.

Harry’s eyes widen, and he wiggles off of Louis’ lap. He blinks his big doe eyes at his daddy, and Louis’ heart melts, not being able to deny his baby anything. He hands him the pink bag, getting a small squeal in return.

Harry wastes no time in opening the bag, ripping out the pink tinsel paper and immediately grabbing onto the fabric inside. He gasps quietly, eyes widening with glimmer all in them. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it in happiness. Daddy always knows what he loves best.

 

_its been so long_

 

“Daddy?” he murmurs, rolling the soft fabric between his thumbs.

“Put ‘em on baby,” Louis encourages, “they’re all yours. Go on.”

Harry smiles even wider, setting the bag on the ground and turning around so his bum is facing daddy. He carefully pulls his original, plain white cotton panties down, wiggling his bare bum around to tease daddy before kicking the white undies away. He can’t help but to squeal under his breath at the new fabric in his hands, so soft and pretty. He sighs happily, sliding it up his smooth, shaved thighs, feeling the fabric rest on his boy bits and bum.

They’re so lovely, is the thing. So soft and sweet. A long time ago, a time he doesn’t like to think about, men would want him in dark colours, and revealing lace, and whorish lingerie. But daddy never gets him that kind of stuff. Not ever.

Right now, he is in strawberry milk coloured, modal panties, softer than 100% cotton, and so comfy against his skin. They cover all but the bottom rounds of his little bum, tiny, white lace trim decorating the edges; his favourite part, is the itty bitty white bow right in the middle, top. He feels so good, so little and cherished.

He bites his lip, rolling down the sleeves of his sweater, little giggles erupting in his chest when he sees how cute he is. Sweater paws, fuzzy socks, _and_ panties.

Then hands are on his waist, then, “Daddy!”

Harry squeals as Louis pulls him back against his chest, wrapping his arms around Harry’s tummy and pulling him close. “Lemme see, baby,” he murmurs, smiling when he feels Harry’s arms wrap around his own.

“I love them so much, daddy,” Harry says happily, “does my bum look good?”

He shakes his little bum, giggling happily when he feels hot breath seeping through the fabric of his sweater.

“Gorgeous baby,” Louis murmurs, “always look gorgeous.”

Louis noses the top of Harry’s sweater up again, this time placing kisses to his spine though, slow and sensual. Harry keeps letting out small little sighs, running his fingertips over Louis’ arms that are wrapped around him.

Louis nips at the trim of the undies, pulling at them a bit. “So pretty baby, always so pretty.”

Then Louis is laying back on the bed, leaving Harry confused as he quickly turns around with furrowed eyebrows.

Louis chuckles, patting the spot between his legs once he gets to the headboard. Harry crawls between his knees, leaning forward and placing a smiling kiss to Louis’ lips. “Thank you so much,” he says gratefully.

“S’nothing sweetheart,” Louis murmurs back, before moving his hand in a circular motion, “c’mon now, turn around and sit down.”

Harry's eyebrows line, but he does as told, _always_ does as told. He sits down between Louis’ thighs, feeling arms wrap around his waist and pulling him back. Harry lays back against Louis’ chest, head against his shoulder as Louis’ hands sneak under his sweater, pressing cool fingertips into the warm skin on his tummy. Harry sighs happily, tilting his head and placing a kiss on Louis’ jaw.

Harry can feel his daddy's bulge pressing into his back, can feel how hard he makes daddy, oh, oh. He does that, he does. He is pretty just for daddy.

He bites his lip, kissing Louis’ jaw again, “Daddy?”

Louis lets out a breath, “Yes baby?”

“Do I look good?”

Louis’ scruff scratches Harry’s cheek, his lips pressing into the soft skin there. One of his hands cradle Harry’s cheek, tilting it so Harry’s lips will meet his own. “So pretty,” he murmurs against the pretty mouth of his boy. He bites down on it softly, before sucking it into his mouth. Harry whimpers, trying to press his lips firmly to Louis’. Louis lets him, opens up his mouth and licks against Harry's. He tastes like sugar and flour, yummy, his baby always is. Harry’s tongue hesitantly meets his, wet and sloppy; slow and sensual, just tasting, licking and tasting.

One of Harry’s hands reaches up to cup Louis’ jaw, the other one playing with the end of his sweater. He loves it when daddy kisses him like this; licks his mouth open and laps inside. It makes his insides feel warm and gooey like honey, his mind slow and foggy. He feels the hand that's tucked in his sweater move down, down, to his, _oh_. He bucks his hips up, trying to get daddy to push down harder on his little boy bits.

Daddy doesn’t though, just laps more slowly in his mouth, thumb tracing the outline of his cock in his pretty panties. He whimpers into Louis’ mouth, hips rocking involuntarily for more. He wants more, always. He feels his toes curling, insides turning.

“More,” he begs quietly, pulling away from daddy’s mouth.

“Want more?” Louis asks, opening his eyes to stare into his baby’s.

Harry nods his head, “Please, daddy.”

Louis smiles softly, pressing a small kiss to his beautiful boys lips, and finally pressing his hand firmly against Harry’s dick.

“O-oh,” Harry gasps, biting down on his lip.

Louis kisses his cheek, his jaw, over to his ear, “Do you like the baby? Like when daddy touches you there?”

Harry nods, feeling Louis’ other hand stroke over his cheek. Then the hand is trailing to his lips, pushing between the soft cushions.

“Will you get them wet for me, love?”

Harry’s eyes flutter closed, and he wraps his lips around Louis’ fingers. They're so lovely, dainty and lovely, but still so man, so daddy. He loves sucking on his daddy, no matter what part of daddy it is, he just loves it. He soaks his fingers, sucks, and sucks, pulls the fingers further into his hot mouth. He feels daddy thrusting them into his mouth, subtly, slowly, getting them all nice and wet. He knows why. Daddy's gonna play with his bum, gonna make him feel so nice and good.

Louis pulls his fingers from Harry’s lips, a string of spit following. Harry licks though, breaking the small line and making Louis groan. His hand is still palming Harry in his panties, and now he is pushing them down his thighs, letting Harry's little cock spring free and slap against his tummy.

“Spread your legs, love,” he murmurs quietly.

Harry complies, slipping one of his legs out of his panties, and then stretching them; spreading them so they lay over top Louis’ legs.

Louis slips his wet fingers past Harry's crotch and to his little hole, circling it with his slick fingers. His other hand slowly strokes the boy, making him feel so, so much goodness. He whimpers, tucking his head beneath Louis’ chin, panting against his chest. “Please, daddy.”

Louis shushes him sweetly, kissing the top of his curls. He slowly circles his pretty pink rim again, before slowly pushing one finger inside, right up to the knuckle. It makes the young boy keen, loud and beautifully. “Feel good, sweetheart?” he asks lovingly, slowly rocking his finger in out of the boy.

“Yes, daddy,” Harry answers, still panting, “more, please.”

Louis chuckles, and slowly slips a second finger in. He rubs the insides of the boys walls, warm and slick, scissoring his fingers to make the boy less tight.

“Still good?” Louis asks, always in his best interest to make sure his boy is okay. It's always about Harry, always about his baby boy.

“Yes daddy, _so_ good,” Harry answers. He moves his head just a bit, and wraps his lips around one of Louis’ nipples, suckling on the pink nub. Louis gasps, rutting up against Harry’s back. It makes Harry whine, sucking harder on the little nub.

“Feels good, baby,” Louis says breathlessly, “would you like another?”

“Yes-yes- _yes_ ,” Harry says quickly, slurring his words. Louis’ hand barely pumps his little cock, just adds enough pressure to keep him constantly on edge.

Louis slowly eases the third one inside, making Harry moan, sweet and high and pretty, lovely eyes fluttering, red mouth opening.

“Daddy, oh-” Harry rocks his little hips down, wanting more, always more, “so good.”

“Yeah?” Louis says, “do you like when daddy plays with your pretty hole, baby?”

Harry whimpers, lifting his head to place wet kisses to Louis’ jaw. All he can do is nod, little hips working in circles to make himself feel good.

“Like this so much, don't you baby?” Louis answers for him, “love when daddy touches you, huh?”

Harry nods again, whining high in his throat. “ _Yes_ ,” he whimpers, biting into his bottom lip.

“Yeah? Like it when daddy plays with your little cock, like it lots?” Louis pants right into Harry's ear, hot breath making the boy tremble.

“Daddy, oh, daddy, daddy-” Harry chants quietly, hips stuttering.

“Like having my fingers in your tight little hole? Like being filled, huh sweetheart?”

Harry nods again, face scrunching up. Louis changes the angle, crooking his fingers, making Harry cry out, rocking down faster and harder. Harry can't help but to squeeze his legs close, thighs pressing together, trying to feel more, get more, _anything_. It makes Louis groan, feeling Harry’s walls close around his fingers, making him feel so fucking hot and tight.

Harry’s gasping and panting, little hips moving erratically, fucking himself unorderly on Louis’ fingers, his toes curling, kicking childishly against each other. He accidentally pushes one of his little sockies off, his knees pressing together as if he has to go potty, but really he just feels so, soo good.

“You sound so pretty right now, angel,” Louis murmurs against his ear, craning his neck to kiss his temple, fucking into Harry relentlessly with his fingers, rubbing over his sweet little spot.

“Please,” Harry begs, eyes clenched close, swiveling his bum, “Please, please,” he begs, gasping and moaning.

“Please what, baby?” Louis murmurs so sweetly, so kindly.

“Please- _oh_ \- please don't stop, pl-please,” he begs, grinding down on Harry’s fingers slow and hard.

“Don’t worry, love,” Louis whispers, “not gonna stop, won’t stop.”

Harry lets out a loud whimper. He wraps both of his hands around Louis’ that is on his little cock, pulling the man's hand up and down hard and fast, squeezing around his fingers to make his grip a firm fist.

 _Fuck_ , its so hot. So beautiful watching the boy, so desperate for release. His little arse getting toyed with, fingers knuckle deep, fucking relentlessly. The way his hands are squeezing around Louis’ hand, tugging on it fiercely, making Louis jerk him off frantically, vigorously.

Louis moans, bucking his hips into Harry’s back, rutting up against his soft skin, precum dragging across his spine. _God_ , its so messy, so _obscene_. The way the two boys are pressed so tightly together, rocking together, small whimpers and moans, panted breaths and leaking cocks.

“Da-Daddy,” Harry whimpers, “gonn-gonna, please.”

“Close, angel?” Louis murmurs, voice rough as he seeks his own orgasm, “gonna come for daddy? Huh, baby?”

“Yesyesyes-” Harry pants.

“Go ahead, make a mess for daddy,” Louis grits, “show daddy how you mess yourself.”

Small ‘uh uh uh’s’ are leaving Harry's bitten lips, all of his everything go sloppy and uneven as he chases his little orgasm.

“Best little boy in the world,” Louis says against his ear, “so pretty. So pretty, your little cock, love when you make messes, always look so pretty. C’mon, show daddy how pretty you are, show daddy.”

Harry sobs, high and sweet, his little cock spurting hot come all over his little tummy, his knees pressing together, lurching further down onto Louis’ fingers as his toes curls, his bare toes curling into the soft fuzz of the sock that is still on the other. Louis bites his lip, grunting because of how tight Harry gets around his fingers, how pretty and indecent Harry looks between his legs, all of his sweet little noises. He carefully pulls his fingers from Harry's little hole, wrapping both of his arms around Harry’s waist and holding him close, rocking harder against the boys back, biting into his shoulder. He can feel the boy trembling in his arms, his small little whimpers from his little orgasm sending shivers through his entire body. His body is so hot, so warm, soft skin dragging against the tip of Louis’ cock.

“Co-” Harry tries to say, so out of it, so shaken up, “come daddy,” he whispers, “make- make mess on me, d-daddy.”

Louis groans, fingers digging into Harry's skin, surely to leave little purple bruises. He comes, hot, thick ropes all over Harry’s back and his own chest, falling lax from his orgasm.

His chest rises, trying to finding even amounts of oxygen. All he comes up with is Harry, always Harry. His beautiful baby boy, his gorgeous boyfriend, his love.

He blinks tiredly, lungs burning, trying to get more air, _more more,_ god, Harry is so fucking perfect. Fills every void in his body, fills him so much, makes him feel so fucking whole. His kisses, tongue, giggle, come, _oh_. He’s so gone, so out of it. Head slow and blurry. He loves it, loves his baby. Pretty baby.

“Daddy?” Harry says quietly, turning so his tummy is pressed to Louis’, his own breathing still noticeably uneven.

“Mhhm,” Louis manages, pulling in shaky breaths.

“I love you.”

Louis’ heart skips, and he feels a warm pair of lips pressing against his cheek, lingering there before pulling back. Louis wants to _cry_.

He grabs the boys face in his palms, cradles it gently, like its the most important thing in the world, “You're so precious, Harry,” he murmurs sweetly “my precious, beautiful boy.” Louis gives him a firm kiss, pulling back to say, “whom I love, so, _so_ much.”

Harry's pretty little eyes well with tears, so happy, so ' _feely_ ' from his orgasm, they both are.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs, “for everything.”

“Thank _you_ , baby,”

Harry exhales contently, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth, settling his head against Louis’ shoulder.

“Hey, daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Can we make pizza for dinner?"

"'course we can, anything you want."

"Can- can we still- can you still be my daddy? For the rest'a the night?" he asks shyly

"Be your daddy as long as you want it. Got all day tomorrow to play, too, baby."

 

_maybe you are fireproof_

_cause nobody saves me baby the way you do_

******  
**

**Author's Note:**

> pls kudos and comment
> 
> [tumblr tumblr tumblr](http://wankerville.tumblr.com/)


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